Better Than Sliced Bread
by tao-fetish
Summary: And B was not for Lawliet, just as L was not for Beyond Birthday. But then again Beyond always had to be the black sheep of the Wammy’s House.


**Warnings:** Sexual content, possible OOC

**Pairing(s):** Beyond BirthdayxL

**Author's notes:** I wouldn't say that this story came to me in a dream (that makes it sound more eerie and meaningful than it actually is) but I woke up one morning and said to myself, "I'm going to write a story where Beyond eats jam off of L's body." And so I did, I grabbed my notebook and scribbled the first half in bed; then went downstairs and had toast for breakfast.

I procrastinated on the ending, though, which is why it took me about a month to update. It feels so good to finally finish it, it feels good to write something centered around the two characters I have the most difficulty characterizing, it feels good just to write something pointlessly sexual. Though it's kind of sad that this fiction is shorter than my journal Death Note dub recaps have been. Though it cannot be helped. I'm in the process of writing something longer anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

* * *

Single letters were never intended to have independent meaning; much like single people did not when 'Old Maid' was a social label and not a card game. Letters were merely roots, lonely scattered nomads waiting to be attached to a cluster of other letters, thus forming the alphabetical community that is a word. Kindergarten teachers often played matchmaker for letters and set them up with solid terms: A is for apple and C is for cat. These were soul mates fated to be together by the forces of language, since Q was obviously not for tricycle.

And B was not for Lawliet, just as L was not for Beyond Birthday. But then again Beyond always had to be the black sheep of the Wammy's House. He always had to be doing something weird that often infringed on somebody else's personal comfort--that's how L wound up handcuffed to a bedpost with his sneaky counterpart and a jar of strawberry jam.

Of course L had no idea what the jam was for when Beyond first showed it to him with a smirk, unscrewing the cap with the most unsettling of ease. And for once it seemed stupid to ask, and he was grateful he didn't. L really didn't need to hear in words what Beyond had planned for that evening; it was an abuse enough on the rest of his body.

Beyond would dip his fingers into the glass jar and smear the contents on some random place on L's torso, which became an exposed canvas for his gooey snack≈starting on his collarbone, to the center of his chest above his sternum, and his direction only seemed to sink lower from there until there was jam pooling inside of L's bellybutton.

His skeleton made an effort to spring off the bed and dash out of the room every time the jam landed on his skin, but as the jam became more and more saturated, struggling only made the globs slide around like boneless red slugs, leaving behind sticky trails of slime. L didn't know what bothered him more: the jam, or Beyond's tongue lapping it off, sometimes twice to make sure he got it all.

Beyond always was careful about wiping away his prints.

Despite his scrupulous cleaning though, the feeling of stickiness seemed to seep through L's pores and pooled beneath his epidermis where Beyond couldn't possibly reach. Having sticky hands was one thing L was used to, since he often used his fingers to unceremoniously pick up the desserts he always ate. But being assaulted by the sensation, having it crawl deep inside of him and possess his state of being until he felt oppressed by his own skin--

L also decided he didn't like the way his back arched off the bed to the point of snapping his spine in half whenever Beyond inched his attention closer to his waistband, but never quite got _there_.

"Beyond," he hissed, thrusting all of the frustration he couldn't express physically into his voice. Frustration for his wrists aching above his head, for being stretched out of his usual sitting position (thus reducing his deduction skills by forty percent), and for his head being further clouded by what Beyond was doing to him. L couldn't think, and that put him in a very dark mood. He even felt disgusted enough to consider giving up sweets--almost.

Beyond slid up his body to meet L's gaze, smacking his lips with mocking emphasis. "There simply isn't a more perfect food on this earth than jam. It goes well with everything."

He said this while tracing a finger along his abdominal muscles and L failed to tell Beyond that he had a spot of this so-called ultimate food at the corner of his mouth, staring back at L. And then Beyond just had to stoop down and rub against his face with questionable affection, the stickiness grating against L's cheek.

"Are you almost done?" He blurted out with a wince. "I need to take a shower."

Beyond squinted at him. "Are you implying that my jam is _dirty_ in some way?"

"It's sticky, and I don't care for it much on my body," L responded and then wished he hadn't been so polite about it. What he really wanted to do was pull one leg free, just one leg, and then he could kick Beyond in the teeth. Especially when he waggled a finger in front of his face.

"Ah, ah, ah," Beyond sang too cheerily for comfort and grinned. "Methinks that the toast doth protest too much."

L blinked once; then twice, unable to digest what he had just said to him or the ruthless abuse of Hamlet, so instead he settled on staring at Beyond as if four-leaf clovers had just sprung out of his nose. And as Beyond scooped out another glob of jam, L couldn't help but notice that the jar was cleaned out, but he felt no sense of relief once he heard his pants unzip. Though his master deduction skills had been frittered away over the process of being used as bread for Beyond Birthday's twisted jam-play, L was one hundred percent positive that he was not going to be let go any time soon.


End file.
